I am a self-confessed bookhound. I cannot walk past a bookshop without browsing and buying at least one book, even when I have no intention of a purchase. Sometimes I enter a store with a particular title in mind, but most of the time a book will call out and attract my attention before my rational mind can produce a scintilla of common sense. It doesn’t matter that I have thousands of unread books on my shelves, another one is added on a whim.
The last time I moved house, I counted well over 50 boxes of books. I packed them with a close friend at my side. I was glad to have her there, not only for the purposes of packing, but also to stop me from looking at each one to lovingly remember how it came into my possession. Had I attempted the exercise on my own, it would have taken days to complete the task.
This time, I know I will not have enough shelves at my new place to house my collection. Not only that, but there won’t be the wall space either. I am already investigating rotating shelves and other innovative designs. Regardless, I will have to downsize.
Today I set myself a target of reducing my collection by a mere 50 books. The first ten weren’t hard, but as I kept going, the task became increasingly difficult.
“But I haven’t read this yet!”
“I may not have enjoyed it, but it is a classic.”
“What if I want to revisit this passage and find the book is out of print?”
I listened to all the irrational arguments and kept adding books to the out-pile. It felt good to reach my target, even though I knew I would have to be more rigorous in my next cull.
Luckily for me, there is a street library down the road and its shelves were looking decidedly sparse. My contribution of 50 paperbacks has now filled all those empty spaces. I know my books will provide hours of pleasure to the readers of Millthorpe.
But will I resist the call next time I walk past a bookshop?
From Quill to Quote 